


it's not like i'm falling in love

by homotional



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Victor Nikiforov, technically enemies to enemies with benefits to friends and then to official lovers ;))
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9369545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homotional/pseuds/homotional
Summary: Victor Nikiforov and Katsuki Yuuri are private detectives.But they're not just that, no, they'remortal enemies. (Victor's pretty sure his hatred originated from the several occasions on which Yuuri had basically stolen his case – why the hell would Celestino give a murder case like Lilia Baranovskaya's to a fucking rookie, anyway?)And when they're both assigned to the seemingly mysterious (and practically unsolvable) case of Guang-Hong Ji's sudden disappearance, all hell breaks loose.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title taken from "no.1 party anthem" by the arctic monkeys
> 
> this is the most thought out thing i've ever written ?? go me

The case was seen as impossible. The police had tried to crack it themselves, but, alas, had not had any luck, the apparent clues that had been left leading them absolutely nowhere. (Literally. Once they'd ended up somewhere in the country, which really made no sense, because the murder was right in the centre of a bustling city – seriously, I thought the police were supposed to have some incentive and common fucking sense.)

Eventually, the victim's sister completely gave up on the police and ended up coming to our private firm. 

It was a murder case. At first glance, it was seemingly generic, but not once you took a glance at the victim. Lilia Baranovskaya, a former prima ballerina. She was known to have had links with a former hitman, Yakov Feltsman (who I'd had the absolute displeasure of meeting several times on different cases, his face resembling that of a frog, grouchy and easily infuriated), and apparently, at one point, was even married to him. They'd had an awful break-up, but it wasn't a crime of passion or anything. No, that would be far too cliché, even for someone like Yakov, who liked a good, old, classic murder. When the police had arrested him under the suspicion of the murder of Lilia Baranovskaya, he'd seemed genuinely shocked, and the rumour that he'd actually cried had been going around the building for several days now, close to a week.

Lilia had no other links with anyone potentially dangerous. Even at the site of her killing, none of the spectators had seen anyone suspicious-looking. The only suspect the police had was Yakov, and it was pretty evident that he hadn't done it.

And that's precisely why, when I heard that everyone else was failing miserably at even attempting to solve this case ("everyone else" being the police), I was ecstatic. There was no doubt about it; that case belonged to me, and me only. It could make (or at least “up”) or break my career. Obviously, it would only break it if I were to fail, which was highly unlikely. If Victor Nikiforov couldn't solve a case, then nobody could. I was almost like the Sherlock Holmes of my department, just without a trusty John Watson beside me. And, currently, no James Moriarty.

Regardless, I wanted this case. No – I didn't just want this case, but I _needed_ it. I craved it like life itself.

The first day I came to work practically buzzing with excitement. I knew Celestino wouldn't fuck around; he'd give the case straight to the detective he deemed worthy (which, fortunately, would just happen to be me). So when I arrived, I damn right strode to my cubicle (Celestino refused to give us private offices; this way, we could “share” information far easier), head up high, the usual smug smirk stretched across my lips as I coolly walked past some of my colleagues.

I sat at my desk for half an hour or so, comfortably slouching in my chair, until I got somewhat bored. When still hadn't received a message from Celestino telling me to head towards his office, I began to get slightly anxious and uncomfortable. However, as always, I remained cool, calm and collected not fretting or panicking.

I remained as peaceful on the second day.

By the third day, my anxiety was increasing.

On the fourth day, my anxiety peaked, because maybe Celestino didn't want to give this case to me after all, but wanted to give it to a different detective. I eventually brushed these ridiculous thoughts away. I was the best, most skilled detective at the firm; if anyone, Celestino would trust me to carry out this near-impossible investigation.

Nevertheless, despite the fact that I had brushed these rather ludicrous thoughts away the day prior, on the fifth day, I was just about ready to go absolutely _insane_. By now, Celestino definitely would have given me the case. He simply just did not forget. He wasn't _allowed_ to forget. However, instead of merely wallowing in my own self-pity and sulking, I decided to actually take this up with my boss, because fuck, nobody was better suited to this affair than I was, and if Celestino thought otherwise, I would demand to know who it was.

So I stood up, pushing my chair away from my desk (very dramatically, like the bitchy antagonist girl always does in the chic-flicks Christophe always made me watch on Saturday nights), and stood up tall, smoothing down my white button-up and tie before marching to my superior's office.

I stopped outside the door and knocked loudly. (I wasn't going to barge in – I'm not _that_ rude.) I crossed my arms as I waited for the door to open, exhaling angrily.

After a few seconds, I saw the faint silhouette of my boss through the light, frosted glass walking towards the door. He smiled broadly as he opened it. “Victor!” he said. I didn't say anything, disapprovingly glaring at him, my arms still crossed quite bitterly. Even as he saw me, the large grin remained on his face. “Why don't you come in?”

I nodded, uncrossing my arms and entering Celestino's office. Once he closed the door behind me, he sat down at his desk. “Why don't you take a seat?” He gestured towards the chair on the opposite side of the wooden table, waiting. I simply placed my hands upon my hips and cocked an eyebrow at him. He seemed to guess that I had refused his invitation to sit down.

“Who?” I asked, the word leaving my lips slowly and with such emphasis that even _I_ would be terrified of me in that moment. Celestino sighed deeply.

“Victor, I just think that-”

“ _Who_?” I repeated, interrupting him. I knew it was probably bad for my job to be taking such a tone with my superior, but frankly, I couldn't care, and besides, I knew my job was safe; Celestino wouldn't have dared to fire me. It was difficult enough as it to employ good detectives at a private firm, seeing as most detectives go straight for the police, not being a PI, but I was a _brilliant_ detective, and I wasn't even being modest. I worked exceptionally hard at my job. It's not like I barely tried, so I actually knew that I was good at it.

Celestino leant forward slightly, lowering his voice. “Yuuri Katsuki,” he told me.

The name was new to me, which, I must admit, was moderately strange. I knew pretty much everyone working at the firm, from Seung-gil Lee, the silent, but incredibly gifted mathematically, investigator who had arrived six months prior, to JJ Leroy, the self-confident ass who didn't seem to know when to stop talking, to Minami Kenjirou, the obsessive fanboy who was on an internship.

And then I realised; I hadn't heard his name because he was a _rookie_.

He was a new investigator at the firm.

At some point during the previous week or so, Chris had told me of a piece of gossip which apparently rumoured that we were getting somebody new at the firm (I had been hoping so, because it really was a shame when Hikaru Fujiwara left, and we desperately needed somebody to replace him), but I hadn't listened, as all my mind could concentrate on was the murder of Lilia Baranovskaya.

Celestino gave an almost _unsolvable_ case to a fucking _amateur_.

“A beginner?” I asked, a probably exceedingly pissed-off expression etched onto my face.

Celestino simply shrugged.

He fucking _shrugged_.

“He's actually extremely gifted,” he explained. “And he's not a total amateur. He worked in a PI agency in Hasetsu before moving here.”

“Where the fuck even _is_ Hasetsu?” I exclaimed, hysterically throwing my arms up in the air. Celestino looked at me disappointedly.

“Victor, you know you're my best detective-”

I pointed at him sharply. “Exactly! If I'm you're best detective, then why aren't I on this case? Why is this Yuuri investigating this instead of me?” I crossed my arms again, impolitely hunching over as if I were sulking. (Which I totally was.)

Celestino sighed exasperatedly again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yuuri's an extremely gifted detective. He was the best at his old firm, and besides, I don't have to give every difficult case to you. There are plenty of other investigators that I employ that are perfectly capable of it.”

“Well, apparently the only other one that's 'capable' of it,” I exaggeratedly put air quotes around the word 'capable', “is this Yuuri Katsuki! You've never given a case that really should be _mine_ to another person before,” I spat.

I knew exactly how I was acting. I was acting like a spoiled brat, melodramatic and like a complete and utter diva, but, honestly, I didn't care. This case fucking belonged to me; I could crack it within two weeks. I bet that this Yuuri person would take at least four, because, evidently, nobody at this firm had beaten me in skill yet.

Instead of listening to my boss utter another word, I stormed out of his office, almost slamming the door behind me. (I was going to, but decided against it; if I broke the door, I'd be paying and, really, I did not want to waste any money on my boss' fucking _door_.)

I charged directly past my own cubicle, heading towards the one person I could trust's own.

Chris would tell me whether Yuuri Katsuki worked on this floor or the one above, so I could then march up there and give him a piece of my mind, and, hopefully in the process, convince him that I was far better suited to the case than he was.

“Chris!” I shouted as I neared his desk. Once I arrived, he smiled up at me from his chair.

“Victor! To what do I owe this pleasant visit?” He batted his eyelashes innocently, and I wanted to roll my eyes, because, really, Chris was everything _but_ that. Alternatively, I smiled slightly devilishly and menacingly down at my friend, asking whether he knew which floor Katsuki Yuuri worked on. He laughed lightly.

“I guess you heard, huh?” he asked. I nodded.

“Unfortunately,” I replied. Chris chuckled quietly again. However, instead of pressing me about this and interrogating me about my thoughts (I was rather glad he didn't, honestly; once I began ranting about how I felt, I didn't think I would ever stop), he simply said, “Yuuri works upstairs. Nice man. A bit full of himself, may I say so myself. You'd get along fantastically with him if you weren't about to freak out on him.”

I barely listened to what Chris said, because after he said that Yuuri worked on the second floor, I was off, determined to find him.

Eventually, I arrived upstairs and my eyes fell on the usual “second-floor-crew” (as they normally referred to themselves as, except Seung-gil Lee and particularly Sara Crispino, much to the distaste of her brother, Michele, who worked on my floor), which included people such as JJ Leroy, Mila Babicheva and Emil Nekola, but my eyes landed on one person in particular, someone who I didn't recognise, and I knew immediately that that was Yuuri Katsuki.

Currently unnoticed, I strode over to where Yuuri was sat, glaring at him hotly. Several of my co-workers interestedly stopped looking at their desk and raised their eyes to me when I was walking past. Eventually, Yuuri looked up at me, looking slightly confused. He looked slightly worn out, dishevelled, and a small smirk made its way onto my lips. He was obviously having a somewhat difficult time solving this case (or perhaps I was being too harsh, out of spite - after all, he'd only spent around five or so days on this case). “Hello?” he said, the greeting coming out as more of a question.

Yuuri wasn't anything particularly extraordinary. He just looked plain and generic, with messy black hair and doe eyes framed by bright blue glasses, his outfit a simple button-up and a, frankly, hideous blue tie. He looked as if he were of average height (possibly slightly shorter; he was sitting down, I couldn't really tell), but had a rather slim build. I wasn't really one to talk regarding outfits, considering I was wearing pretty much the same thing (except I was actually wearing a somewhat tasteful tie, unlike Yuuri, whose tie looked like it could have been found discarded in a back alleyway near a sleazy bar or something) but, along with that, this man just seemed so _normal_. He looked rather boring, if I was being completely honest.

I outstretched my right arm. “Hi, I'm Victor Nikiforov, I work downstairs,” I greeted. “You're Yuuri Katsuki, right?” Yuuri nodded slowly, still utterly confused. “Ah! I just came to say that you, uh,” I chuckled lightly (and it sounded so utterly fake that I almost wanted to puke), retracting my arm and awkwardly scratching behind my neck, “you stole my case.”

Yuuri was slightly taken aback by my sudden change in demeanour and blunt statement. “Excuse me?” he replied.

“You _stole_ my case,” I repeated, slower.

“I didn't steal anybody's case,” he stated, still looking rather perplexed as to why I suddenly came up to him and bluntly accused him of stealing my investigation, but also somewhat irked. "Why would you even think so?"

I sighed. Evidently, this wasn't going to be easy, but I'd always had my own techniques to get what I wanted. Most people would call me an over-dramatic diva, but I myself preferred the term _queen of the arts_ , simply because, in a way, getting my own way was an art; it could only be done by certain people in a specific way, and I was damn good at it. So, instead of taking a negative approach to get the case I deserved, I smiled charmingly. Normally, this would have worked on various women (and sometimes men), practically making them putty at my fingers. Yuuri Katsuki, however, was not one of these people.

“Can I please continue with my job? Thanks," he responded, beginning to scan his computer to find where he was before I rudely waltzed up to his desk and interrupted his work. I placed my hand on the back of his office chair and harshly swivelled him around so that he was facing me once more.

“No.” I glared at him.

“And why not?” He glared back at me, twice as savage, his doe eyes almost cutting through my own icy azure ones like a knife. Alas, I did not back down.

“Did you not hear me?” I asked, placing my left hand to cup behind my left ear in a gesture to suggest that he didn't hear me properly. “I said that this is _my_ case.”

“Yeah, no.” He turned back to his work after smilingly sweetly but oh-so-bitterly at the same time.

“Hey!” I said, my voice raised slightly. More people were beginning to look over to us now, some people, such as Mila, looking so into it that I thought she was positively going to burst with excitement, but others, like Seung-gil, looking completely disinterested and only watching us because we were interrupting their work. “Don't turn away from me!”

Yuuri turned his head towards me, still smiling sourly but extremely pleasantly. “I'd like to get on with my work,” he began, “so if you would kindly _fuck off_ , that'd be absolutely fantastic!”

I was fully aware that we were acting downright childish and immature, so, instead of making a fool out of myself even more so than I had already, I decided that it'd probably just be best if I let this case go, scowled at him once more and, for dramatic and utterly clichémeasures, muttered something along the lines of "you'll fucking regret this", getting intimidatingly close to his face, still harshly glaring at him. He didn't even flinch. 

Yuuri simply replied, “I wish I'd live to see the day.”

In response, I huffed, sharply turned and began to stride away.

And, as I walked away, if there was one thing I was certain of, it was how much I utterly despised Yuuri Katsuki.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ?? thank you sm for all the reads already i mean holy shit i didn't know a detective au would be that popular ??

To say that Yuuri and I got off on the wrong foot was a complete understatement.

Our first rude and blunt encounter had left each other with a seething hatred for the other person, I for Yuuri, and Yuuri for me. (Chris says that it's totally my fault, but I was still standing by the fact that I should have had that case.)

Many people would think that, over three years, we would have got to known each other better, and, in that time, even come to understand one another, and possibly become friends.

Frankly, the prospect of Yuuri and I becoming actual friends was so ludicrous that it actually made me want to giggle. No – not just giggle – it made me want to erupt into a fit of laughter, because that idea was utterly ridiculous. It was unlikely that we'd ever be able to be in the same room together and actually we civil to one another, let alone take time and become friends.

Anyway, I was fine with the friends I had. I had Chris, mainly, and Mila, and I was pretty much on friendly terms with everyone in the office, excluding Yuuri Katsuki. Hell, I was even on good terms with his best friend (and newbie PI who joined approximately three years after Yuuri did), Phichit Chulanont, and to even say I can stand being around someone who thinks so highly of Yuuri is an achievement, never mind saying that I can actually hold a good, entertaining conversation with them. Then again, Phichit is fucking impossible to dislike.

If anything, over three years, I had just gotten to loathe Yuuri more. Being his colleague was sheer _agony_ , especially if we were constantly competing to be the better PI. That was one good thing about knowing Yuuri, I guess; my job is always done to perfection. If I make even the smallest mistake or miss the tiniest detail, Yuuri wouldn't let me live it down, which is fair, considering I'd do exactly the same to him.

In the years that followed our first meeting, Yuuri stole numerous of my cases. (I say “stole” but Chris just normally tells me I'm being melodramatic whenever I complain about it to him.)

In retaliation, I stole numerous ones of his. (Again, I say that, but, come _on_ , they were mine to begin with.)

Only occasionally did Celestino make me give an opinion on an investigation to Yuuri, or vice-versa. I think one of the reasons he did with was that he was attempting to get us to kind of get where each other was coming from and take different viewpoints into account when investigating a case. Of course, we never did, but instead just ended up getting into arguments about whose opinion was correct and why.

Long story short, Yuuri Katsuki made my work life more of a hassle than it should be. He made it far less enjoyable than it should have been, and, frankly, considering that, before I met him, I used to absolutely adore my job, that really just made me detest him more.

Generally, we tried to avoid each other. It didn't really work. One of us would do something so fantastically amazing towards our work or solve an exceedingly difficult case practically by ourselves, that we just felt compelled to boast about our achievement to, or at least near, the other, just to annoy them. (At one point, I did this so much that Yuuri got so irritated that he threw water at me. Like, straight up filled up a cup and threw it at me. That inevitably started a war that I won in good time.)

For most of my life, I'd got along almost perfectly with everyone (even Yuri Plisetsky, back in Russia, and that was saying something, because he was damn difficult to get along with), chatting my way through enjoyable conversations or bonding with someone over our mutual agreement that Elvis Presley's music was pretty much the best you could hear or just _something_ like that, but when Yuuri Katsuki came along, practically _begging_ to become my mortal enemy, I hadn't really known how to react. Maybe I had overreacted slightly when he got the case and I didn't. Maybe I hadn't, but I didn't exactly know. Pretty much the only thing I knew that this was the actual first time in my entire life that I loathed someone as much as I did Yuuri. I also knew that Yuuri and I shared the exact same reciprocal hatred towards each other, which was the only thing we could really agree on. Hatred, to be completely honest, is confusing. Sometimes you can't understand whether it's truly hatred or you're simply holding a grudge against them for something they did, and sometimes you can't decipher if you really want to detest them or not. I had had my doubts about my abhorrence towards Yuuri, but, eventually, I always had to decide that, yes, I truly did hate him. He was utterly insufferable – big-headed, blunt and arrogant. I'm sure he had at least somewhat decent qualities, but I couldn't really bring myself to even care.

Regardless of how confusing I thought my hatred towards Yuuri was, it didn't stop me whatsoever from trying to better him. On numerous occasions, after getting a case we both desperately wanted, I solved it within record time, sometimes even within about two weeks. (Truthfully, my record for a case was about six and a half days, but that was a rookie case from when I first started out as a PI. At the age of 28, I could have probably solved that within two days, probably one.)

The way Yuuri and I worked was constantly in competition, never not against each other. We were always on separate teams, although, really, we were supposed to be on the same. Normally, we both got cases we wanted, but not at the same time. It seemed as if every case I wanted, Yuuri wanted, and vice-versa. Sometimes I wondered whether he did that purposely or if I unconsciously did so. It also seemed if all our hatred originated from our first encounter; all our anger generally came back to that. He normally blamed me for being extremely rude and blunt, and I blamed him for “stealing” my case in the first place, and then acting in the exact same way towards me.

To help prevent me from repeating myself, we both blamed each other for our resentment.

(Although, actually, I knew it was both our faults; I just liked to annoy Yuuri as much as possible without getting water hurled at me.)

One of the times at which I had hated Yuuri the most (other than our first encounter) was when he actually solved the case of Lilia Baranovskaya within two and a half weeks, which Celestino and many of my other colleagues thought exceptionally fantastic. In fact, our boss called all of us into a meeting to even congratulate him and celebrate that, yet again, we'd managed to crack another case that the police couldn't. (At that bit, I wasn't surprised. Our staff were of very high standards, and, to put it shortly, our police force was absolutely shit.)

“Everyone!” Celestino exclaimed. “Please offer your congratulations to Mr Katsuki, who has solved Lilia Baranovskaya's murder case within two and a half weeks!” A small, but rather large for our small firm, cheer was heard from the staff (except, obviously, me). I was sat in between Chris and Mila, the latter of whom had cheered exceptionally loudly, almost deafening me, causing me to flinch. “He is an exceptionally talented detective, and I certainly hope that he continues to deliver to this standard in all of his investigations,” Celestino continued (I snorted quietly as he said that, because, surely, this was just a fluke), a large, proud grin set upon his face. Yuuri Katsuki himself was stood behind him, looking rather sheepish and his cheeks tinted a very slight crimson. He looked rather awkward, smiling embarrassedly at all of his co-workers.

Eventually, Celestino dismissed the staff, and I must have been the first to shoot up eagerly and get out of the room, attempting to escape the reasonably big wave of PIs that were swarming the room. Thinking I'd escaped from Yuuri and his success, I briskly walked back towards my desk, which was laden with a messy assortment of paperwork and various other details from separate cases. However, luck still was not on my side, as, a minute or so later, Yuuri appeared beside me, towering over my chair, smiling smugly. “How're your cases coming along?” he asked. I scowled. He knew full well that I hadn't any cases right then and was simply just rubbing it in my face that he got the case and managed to solve it within an almost incredible amount of time.

“They're not,” I replied, not turning towards him and shuffling through the mass of papers sat on my desk. “I don't have any right now.”

I saw him frown exaggeratedly out of the corner of my eye. “Not even a mere congratulations? I knew you were jealous, Victor, but you don't need to be so insolent.”

I swivelled my chair towards him and glared. “What do you want congratulations for?”

“I just solved a case you couldn't solve in three weeks within two and a half. Surely that's something to praise me for?” he said, his over-exaggerated frown replaced with the smug smirk that had been there previously, pushing his blue glasses that had slipped down his nose slightly back up. It was a shame, really; I preferred him looking rather ugly.

“I could have solved that case in two,” I told him. He snorted faintly.

“That's difficult to believe _._ ”

I shot up rapidly, so that there was barely four inches between my face and his, my sharp azure eyes piercing his own.

There really was no need for the dramatics, but, as I said before, I am an _artist._ Plus, he was provoking me. I wasn't going to simply sit there and take it, was I?

“I'm _twice_ the detective you are,” I growled in response. He was smirking menacingly, his tawny eyes glistening with complete complacency, although I was still glaring fiercely at him, and I wasn't sure if he was priding himself on the fact that he had successfully vexed me to my very core, or whether it was still because of his victory on the case. “And if you have trouble believing that,” I continued, “I suggest you go and have a look at some of my cases. I think you'll find that they're extremely advanced, so much so that you may not even be able to get the simplest grasp on them. They're probably far too complicated for the likes of you.”

“That's funny,” Yuuri drawled, placing his right hand on the surface of my desk and leaning back slightly, “I was just about to say the same thing.”

A fire of anger, and even envy (probably over the fact that he had somehow managed to irk me so much, yet Yuuri himself still seemed cool, calm, collected and not even the smallest bit irritated, not even as I suggested that my cases were too complex for him), began to burn in the pit of my stomach. My scowl deepened, so that I probably resembled that of an angry Shih Tsu, and I leant forward so that there was barely any space between Yuuri and me once again. I thought I saw something, a flicker of something almost like fear, appear in his eyes for only a split-second. And I tell you something, he should have been scared, because I suddenly grabbed his shirt and harshly pushed him backwards, eventually so that he was backed up against the wall of the office. There was still nobody in the room besides us; everyone was still gathered with Celestino, celebrating Yuuri's apparent victory on the case, although the man of the hour wasn't even there.

At that moment, I had successfully rattled Yuuri.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he whispered, still with utter venom, so that none of our colleagues would hear us. I smirked with satisfaction. “Let go of me!” Yuuri attempted to wriggle from my grasp, trying to bat my hands away from where they were clutching his shirt.

I didn't say anything. I didn't even _have_ to. I simply just continued to smirk, glaring at Yuuri's effort to escape my grip. Eventually, he stopped trying. We stood there for at least two minutes, glaring at each other, before I finally spoke up.

“And what are you going to do if I let go?” I inquired quietly, a little delayed considering how long ago Yuuri had demanded I let go of him. Yuuri leant forward.

“Punch your fucking face in,” he hissed. I leant forward even more in an attempt to intimidate him.

“Well then, it doesn't look like you're getting away.”

Yuuri's glower deepened, but he didn't say anything more. I sneered.

I'd seemed as if I had won, the tables suddenly turned, as I was now the one all calm and cool and purely fucking annoying, and Yuuri was the one who was irritated and uncomfortable (but still equally as annoying).

I chuckled quietly, gently shaking my head. “Run out of things to say?” I asked, a devilish smirk placed across my lips. Yuuri didn't say anything, which I took as an answer to my question. He continued to glare at me, his doe eyes glistening with nothing but pure loathing. I stared right back at him.

And suddenly, and I didn't know why, I had the feeling that something was on me. Like, physically on me. Specifically on my lips.

And that was when it hit me.

Yuuri was on my lips.

With _his_ lips.

 _He was kissing me_.

It wasn't soft, it wasn't gentle, it was purely rough and hurried, mostly teeth and tongue.

I think one of the most surprising things about that moment was the fact that I was actually kissing back - rather desperately, actually - as if it would solve something. As if it would possibly solve the mutual hatred Yuuri and I shared.

At some point, I'd let Yuuri's shirt go and instead pinned his hands above his head. He was still kissing back fiercely, not struggling or anything, so I took that as he had no complaints about our current situation.

Surprisingly, Yuuri was a good kisser (very good, even) his lips soft and not even the smallest bit chapped, tasting of cake and entirely something else (I wasn't quite sure what “something else” was, but it tasted fucking amazing), applying just the right amount of pressure, but, of course, I wasn't going to admit to myself that I found this even somewhat enjoyable. I still completely hated the guy; just because he had decided to make-out with me was certainly not going to change that.

Our kiss certainly was not tender. It was tongues everywhere, running along teeth and lips, and occasionally, I bit Yuuri's bottom lip, so that he would gasp slightly, my pale hands roaming up his back, underneath his shirt. At one point, I disconnected our lips to work on his neck, but he quickly stopped me. “People would ask questions,” said Yuuri, out of breath and slightly bedraggled.

Everything in that moment was confusing and, frankly, a blur. It's cliché, right? A moment of intense passion with an enemy? All I can really remember is that kiss and how we had to fuck in the staff toilets and that I was on top (I fucking _knew_ that boy was a bottom), Yuuri pressed up against the wall, suppressing his moans as best as he could (which was definitely not very well – it was nice to know I was better at that than him, too).

Afterwards, when both Yuuri and I were recovering, slumped against the bathroom wall, out of breath and our heartbeats erratic, he simply turned to me, smirked and said, “That was rather impressive, considering you're, well, _you_.” (Hence successfully ruining the momentary peace between us).

In return, I turned to look at him, confused. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged half-heartedly.

We continued bickering quietly until we decided that we should probably leave, as being in there any longer would arouse more suspicion than there probably already was.

Luckily, I don't think anyone suspected anything (anyone but Chris, at least, because that man is a sniffer-dog for all things sex), but it may have looked somewhat suspicious when I emerged from the men's room, sweaty and dishevelled and still very minimally out of breath, and especially Yuuri the same about eight minutes later. It really isn't easy trying to be discreet when you're in a building full of detectives, especially if you knew that, if you were in their situation, you'd know exactly what was going on within mere seconds.

After our somewhat accidental first - and hopefully the last (later, I went on to discover that it certainly wasn't) - sexual encounter, I was still positive of the fact that I hated Yuuri Katsuki, so no, fucking him really did not help soothe my seething hatred for the man.

It honestly just seemed to get even worse from there.

It was rather a shame, really, considering it would have been a lot more helpful to not hold a burning desire to hit him every fifteen seconds when he was a colleague of mine. Although, I supposed that, after having so many wonderful co-workers, like Seung-gil (who was only really one of my favourites because he kept to his own things and investigations without disturbing others) and Chris (again, he stayed out of other detectives' cases, but also he was one of my only proper friends), so it was only natural that I got a one that was practically the literal human embodiment of a horror story.

I was only sure I really despised Yuuri because he “stole” my case. If he hadn't and didn't continue to do so (although they were all cases that were a far smaller deal than the Baranovskaya murder), I probably would have gotten along with him just fine. Fantastically, even.

And when the case of Guang-Hong Ji came around three years after Yuuri fist joined our firm, I was determined to get it. There was no doubt about it; this case was even more difficult than the Lilia Baranovskaya one, and Guang-Hong Ji, the missing party, so either Yuuri or I were going to get it. Although new detectives, such as Georgi Popovich and Phichit, had joined the firm since Yuuri first arrived, we were still tied for the position of best PI.

The Guang-Hong Ji case was certainly a mysterious one. It was going to be difficult, but I was always prepared. Guang-Hong Ji was overseas studying, but was originally from China, and one day went missing. Despite having been missing for around three days, his parents had only just been made aware of the situation, and this was mainly because it was shown that he hadn't really any connections with anybody, which means nobody had anything to go on so that they could contact them. (On that, I must admit, the police made an alright job.) There was barely anything to go on at all, except for the location of his apartment. No evidence had been found. The police weren't really in on the actual investigation as the parents, as soon as they had found out, contacted us.

This was exactly why when, on the Wednesday morning after I had found out about this case a day or two prior, I found a message on my desk saying to visit Celestino's office immediately, I was ecstatic. I dumped all my things in my cubicle almost instantly and pretty much ran to my boss' private office. As I sped-walked past Chris' cubicle, he leant back on his chair so that he could properly see me and called, “Did you get the case?”

In response, I simply put my thumb up, already walking away. I didn't know if Chris smirked or just smiled or what after that, because, damn it, I was a man on a _mission_ , and Victor Nikiforov was about to get this fucking case.

Once I got to Celestino's office, I completely stopped, slightly breathless. I stood still for a short while, regaining my marginal loss in breath, before adjusting my posture, straightening out my tie and button-up, and knocking firmly on the frosted glass of my superior's office door. Eventually, I heard his footsteps faintly and saw his silhouette through the glass, and, as he opened the door, he welcomed me with a large grin.

“Mr Nikiforov!” he greeted. I smiled back. “I'm so glad you could join us!”

I grew somewhat confused at the last word.

_Us?_

Surely, if it were just Celestino and me, he would have simply said “me”. English wasn't his first language, but neither was it mine, and I knew Celestino wasn't even capable of making such mistakes while speaking, as he was very much a perfectionist, and, if he had made a mistake, even just a small one, he would correct it immediately after he had said or written it.

However, I didn't show it, continuing to smile, walking into the room once Celestino had stepped aside.

I wasn't really preparing myself for the worst.

Truthfully, I should have been preparing myself for a lot worse than that.

Sitting there, in one of the chairs on the opposite side to Celestino by his desk, was Yuuri Katsuki. He turned to look at me, his bright doe eyes suddenly turning dark with utter hatred, a frown making its way onto his face where a smirk had sat seconds prior. “ _Him_?” he spat. I guessed that he didn't hear Celestino's greeting once I arrived. I simply looked at Yuuri with disgust.

“Victor,” Celestino said, dragging my attention from my colleague to him, “please have a seat.” He gestured to the chair next to Yuuri's. Reluctantly, I took it.

Once I sat down, I said, “Firstly, what's he doing here?”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes at me slightly. “That's funny,” he said. “I was going to ask the very same thing.” He slumped back in his chair, crossing his arms as if he were a juvenile child having a sulk.

“If you two can't get along, then neither of you will have this case.” Almost straight after Celestino had finished speaking, Yuuri and I both lurched forward in our seats. He had clearly been anticipating this, too.

“What do you mean?” I asked first.

“Are we both competing to see which one of us is worthy of the case?” Yuuri added second.

“Why do we have to get along if we're competing for the case?” I said, and, to prevent any more questions from either Yuuri or I being shot at him, Celestino put his hand up to tell us both to shut up.

“Your questions will be answered if you listen.” Celestino leant back in his chair. “As you both know,” he continued, “the case of Guang-Hong Ji is exceptionally difficult. It's very rare that firms like ours get trusted with such responsibility. However, the victim's parents specifically asked us to keep the police out of it as much as possible.

“For this case, there is little to no evidence. We know that it happened in his apartment, and we know where the said apartment is situated. But the only other thing we know is that, originally, Guang-Hong Ji is from China and has no siblings. Police cannot identify any connections he has with anyone potentially dangerous at the moment-”

Celestino was interrupted by a short snort. I turned my attention from my boss to my insufferable colleague.

“The police force couldn't find any connections with anyone if they were shooting at them,” Yuuri stated, smirking and leaning back in his chair, but this time not in a sulk. “Give me five minutes on the scene of the crime, half an hour with his parents, a look at the evidence and I'll manage to identify someone.” I rolled my eyes, and was just about to politely tell him to shut the fuck up, when Celestino did it for me (but in a far nicer way).

“Mr Katsuki,” he said, “if you were to kindly let me continue, you would realise that there is hardly any evidence and the scene of the crime has left nothing that we can potentially trace back to anywhere. The police have already questioned the parents as much as they could, finding nothing of use. They hardly even knew of what their son was studying, let alone of connections with anyone dangerous.”

Yuuri opened his mouth to defend himself, but quickly shut it again. That repeated a couple of times, and I almost laughed at how much he resembled a goldfish. Once he saw me smirk, suppressing a giggle, Yuuri abruptly stopped, his mouth snapping shut and not opening again. He glared.

Celestino turned to me. “Mr Nikiforov.”

“Yes?” I replied.

“If you continue to terrorise Yuuri in such a way, you will not be a part of this investigation at all, and I will get either Mr Giacometti or Miss Babicheva to replace you. Surely you wouldn't want that?”

A broad grin spread over my face, and I forgot to care about the fact that he accused me of “terrorising” Yuuri (although I really wasn't; just smirking smugly to annoy him).“I get the case?” I asked, ecstatic and practically bouncing out of my seat. Yuuri looked completely cheated.

“What the _fuck_?” he exclaimed, slightly too loud for a private meeting, a look of disgust over the fact that I got the investigation etched onto his face. Celestino smiled slightly and turned to him.

“Yuuri, may I ask refrain from using that kind of language? If you fail to do so, you won't be on the case either.”

And suddenly, I froze.

Yuuri was on the case as well.

I felt somewhat stupid for not realising it the moment I saw him sitting in Celestino's office, because, honestly, why the fuck would Yuuri be there if he wasn't? Celestino wasn't that cruel. (I'd have to rethink that, actually; he was putting me on a case with the human incarnate of Lucifer, he was certainly cruel enough to do that.)

“Surely it's animal cruelty putting _him_ on a case with me!” Yuuri exclaimed childishly, wildly gesticulating towards his left, where I sat.

I crossed my arms. “Well, of course, if you're referring to the animal as yourself.”

I said it was childish – not that I wouldn't also sink to that level.

“Mr Katsuki, please sit down,” Celestino said. Yuuri slowly lowered himself back down to sit in his chair. “Now, I'm not quite sure what it is going on between you two,” he gestured between Yuuri and me, “because one moment you're fighting, and the next you're sneaking into the bathroom together or going _god_ knows where to do things certainly not suitable for the workplace-”

“That was only four times!” Yuuri huffed at the same time I shot out of my seat and exclaimed:

“You _knew_?”

(I honestly felt slightly betrayed; if Celestino knew, that meant that _everyone_ knew, including Mila – I wasn't counting Chris, because, again, he can practically smell sex three miles away – and that meant that she didn't tell me. And neither did anyone else for that matter, not even Minami, who would probably ask somewhat personal and marginally creepy questions, considering the complete Yuuri fanboy he'd become over three years. Then again, he probably asked Phichit for details. Yuuri likely told him everything, anyway.)

Celestino simply looked between us, unimpressed. “Everyone did,” he replied, dismissing it with the mere wave of his hand. A blush suddenly made its way onto my ashen cheeks as I sank back down into my chair. “What I'm trying to say is,” he leant forward again, “if you two cannot work together efficiently, which, must I say, would be very disappointing, considering that you're both excessively gifted in your area of work,” I saw Yuuri smile in slight satisfaction from the corner of my eye, “and if you two can't crack this case, then nobody can.”

Yuuri and I exchanged a glance. This time, it wasn't filled with anger, hatred or annoyance, but with actual understanding. Celestino was saying that only we could solve this and find Guang-Hong Ji, and we both knew that, understood each other, mutually agreeing on what we had to do.

Yuuri smirked determinedly, looking towards me for confirmation. I nodded.

“We'll do it,” he said. “We may not get on well, but for the sake of this case, we'll manage. We can do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was meant to be up tuesday oops


	3. Chapter 3

“How about if we-”

“No.”

There was no doubt that Yuuri and I would make a fantastic team. We were both intelligent, as much I absolutely despised to admit, we both knew our way around a few cases that involved kidnappings (though none of them quite like this one, but the experience would definitely become useful at some point), and we both knew how to finish a case quickly, successfully and without getting murdered or kidnapped ourselves.

Of course, all these only applied if you could agree on how to work. Which, unfortunately, is exactly what we couldn't do.

Yuuri Katsuki, I must say, was absolutely abysmal at planning and approaching cases. I hadn't any idea how he'd even managed to solve anything in the past. I'd only found out when he'd said he'd like to get started right away, and I'd asked, rather surprised (Yuuri had always just seemed very organised and like the kind of guy to carefully plan things out and take many things into consideration, even things that didn't necessarily matter), if he was planning on doing it without a plan. Yuuri shook his head in reply, stuck his hand in his pocket and fished out a small, scrunched up napkin with almost unreadable black print scrawled messily across it.

Which is _exactly_ how we found ourselves sitting in a small, empty conference room, the case file, or the lack of one, placed neatly across the table at which we sat, writing down a detailed plan, completely contrasting from Yuuri's half-assed attempt of one he probably drew up at three am the morning prior.

Yuuri inhaled deeply. “Right then,” Yuuri began, beginning to point at a small section of the file that read something about Guang Hong's last sighting before he was kidnapped. “What if we go-”

“Again, just no.” I crossed my arms stubbornly.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Yuuri groaned, burying his face in his arms, exasperatedly lying across the table.

I rolled my eyes. He was just being over-dramatic – and frankly, excessively annoying. Yuuri sat back up again. “Why not?” he asked.

I shrugged. “It's just not the way to do it. It's unprofessional, it's messy, and we've got to organise the case file first.”

Yuuri gesticulated wildly to the two pieces of paper and the A4 card folder sitting on the table. “There's nothing there! There's nothing _to_ organise!”

I glared at him harshly, leaning closer to the file, quickly studying the little information that we had. “There's _always_ something to organise.”

Yuuri sighed exasperatedly and stood up. My eyes tore away from the file I was furiously studying to look at the Japanese man in confusion. “Where the hell are you going?” I asked. Yuuri turned.

“To get coffee,” he began. “The _organisation_ -” the air quotes were, in fact, unnecessarily harsh, especially considering the fact that organisation was probably the most important part of an investigation, “-clearly doesn't need any help from me” Yuuri turned around again and began to walk towards the door. Instead of stopping him (which, looking back, I probably should have done, considering that we were both on the case together), I merely shrugged and resumed my study of the case file.

Before Yuuri reached the door, he turned around again. “What?” I asked, uninterested, not looking up from my work.

“I get you really don't like me or whatever,” Yuuri said, “but I really think that it would be best for us – as detectives on this case – to try and put it all behind us. Because if we don't, we're just going to end up fighting.” I looked up from my work, staring slightly confusedly at Yuuri. “If all we're doing is arguing, little to no work is going to be done in a short amount of time.”

“So you're proposing we don't dislike each other? That we become _friends_?”

Yuuri shook his head, leaving me slightly puzzled.

“No,” he said. “What I'm saying is that, for the sake of the case and our _careers_ , we act civilly. I'm not saying we should be friends or whatever, I'm not saying we're going to kiss and make up, and I'm not saying anything like that, I'm just saying we act like adults.”

The prospect alone of not arguing with Yuuri was weird. To be completely honest, I wasn't quite sure if I would even like it that way. Arguing with someone, someone just like Yuuri, had been something that drove my career and, in a way, improved it, as I was constantly trying to better him, trying to be the better and more successful detective. Our fights, although childish, inspired me (kind of) in my area of work, giving me motive and a reason to work. And, in some weird way, it made my job more enjoyable. I know I said that Yuuri made my job less enjoyable, I know I said things like that, but, subconsciously, I think that I enjoyed my work even more. Though I hated the man, it was actually almost fun having somebody to fight against. It was a challenge, more than anything. Yuuri made me strive to become better, or better than him, at least.

The thing was, without competition from Yuuri, what was my job?

Of course I enjoyed my job – why wouldn't I? -, but, for almost four years now, everything, even all the small things, had been in competition against Yuuri, even when it really didn't have to be.

Likely, sensing my doubts and hesitancy at his suggestion, Yuuri began to speak.

“Nikiforov,” he said. My eyes, which I didn't even know had turned towards the floor as I was thinking, suddenly looked up at the other man in the room. “I know it's going to be weird. But it's for our _careers_. Everybody is relying on us for this case. And by that, I mean literally everybody. The victim's parents didn't even consult the police first, so it's completely down to us. This case is difficult, far more so than anything either of us has ever handled before, which is why Celestino gave it to both of us. He trusts us to complete this case, to save this _kid_ – Victor, Christ, this kid's only _seventeen_. He's not even lived his life yet, but it might already be ending, and he just doesn't deserve it. But we, Victor, only us, can help him. He doesn't _have_ to die. But in order for that to happen, we're going to have to get along, whether we fucking like it or not.”

I exhaled deeply, ignoring the fact that, for practically the first time since we met several years ago, Yuuri called me 'Victor' and not simply 'Nikiforov'. “It's not that I don't want to do it. It's just, for almost four years, my job has revolved around beating _you_. It's going to be weird, not having to compete against you.”

Yuuri smiled weakly. “That's just something we're going to have to get used to,” he replied, turning away and exiting the room, as he originally planned.

 

_******* _

 

Now, I mean it when I say that the next few days included slightly more sex than I bargained for. And obviously, the sex (all unintended) came as a result of fighting. A _lot_ of fighting. Of course, these were never physical fights, but, evidently, we definitely got physical almost every time afterwards.

Despite our agreement a few days prior, it really had no impact on the following events whatsoever.

And, because of our 'disagreements', it meant that Yuuri and I had gotten no further with the case. And because of this, it always ended in sex.

I remember one of our arguments – the last one, actually – was a particularly nasty one. Truthfully, I can't even remember what it was about, but it mustn't have been that big of a deal; it was just that Yuuri and I made it one. This specific fight ended at my place. I wasn't sure why, and neither was Yuuri, and I still don't really to this day, but all I know about it was that, for some reason, we had to go back to mine to fuck. Apparently, for that one time, the staff toilet or even the conference room we worked in (it happened a few times in there, but we were always careful not to get anything on our work) wasn't good enough, so we had to go somewhere else.

And after this particular time, it was excessively more awkward than either of us anticipated. We kind of just sat there, on separate sides of the bed, loosely clutching the dull, slightly grey bedsheets (if they hadn't needed a wash before the event, they certainly did now), in silence. Most of what could be heard was our faint breathing, still a little erratic, and occasionally the quiet drone of an ambulance, police car, fire truck, or whatever-the-fuck-type-of-car.

“Right,” Yuuri said after what had felt like an eternity, “I have no fucking clue about you, but I need a cigarette.” By this, I was slightly shocked. I never took Yuuri for the smoking type. He always just seemed too clean, too basic. Of course, I had never touched a cigarette, because I genuinely believed that it was just an early death in a stick. “You smoke?” I asked him. He shrugged.

“Not too often. Only when I get stressed,” he answered, leaning down – still clutching the bedsheets to his lower half – to reach for something to wear. I nodded in acknowledgement. Suddenly, he got up, only his lower half covered, turned to me and asked if I had a balcony. I nodded.

“Just there,” I replied, pointing to the glass doors closest to me. He shot me a confused look, as if he hadn't noticed them when he first came in here.

And, of course, he hadn't.

“Huh,” he said. “I hadn't realised them before.”

I mentally noted that Yuuri wasn't the most observant person out there, or at least not when it came to gigantic glass doors inside a bedroom he'd been in for the past forty-five minutes or so.

“Remind me again, why are you a detective?”

He smiled slightly. “Shut up,” he replied. He rummaged around on the floor for a short while, searching for his pack of cigarettes, before finally finding them inside his blazer pocket. He stood up, walking straight past me towards the balcony. He slid open the door with ease, letting a cool breeze drift into the bedroom, before stepping outside and lighting himself a cigarette. I stayed in the bed for a short while afterwards. It wasn't the fact that I was tired, but more the fact that I was cold and couldn't be bothered to ask Yuuri to shut the balcony door. Plus, I wasn't even sure he would do so. Considering our fight earlier that night and just our general history, I wasn't too sure that he trusted me, and would probably just think that I was going to lock him out. I wouldn't be that surprised at myself if I _did_ do it, honestly.

However, I eventually decided to brave the cold – I'm Russian for fucks sake, a small, but albeit extremely cold, breeze was nothing compared to the winters back there – and get up, quickly grabbing my boxers and robe from the desk chair on the other side of the room, and join Yuuri outside, because I'm a _good host_.

(That's a lie. Once, I accidentally locked Michele Crispino outside – on the balcony, funnily enough – at a party in my apartment. In all fairness, I was _very_ drunk, and I did completely forget that he was there for twenty minutes. Though, I suppose the loud banging on the glass door should have at least given some other people a clue that he wanted to come inside. Michele got a cold, and he's never quite fully forgiven me for that, but seems to be just peachy with practically everybody else at our firm, as long as they don't show any interest in his sister, Sara, whatsoever.)

“Hey,” I greeted as I stepped out onto the balcony (I instantly regretted not wearing shoes. It was fucking _freezing)_ and, because I was a decent host, I asked, “Do you want anything else to wear? It's cold, and you're only in a shirt and boxers.”

Yuuri glanced at me slightly, before laughing weakly and shaking his head. “Of course Victor Nikiforov would own a robe.”

I looked at him confusedly. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You just give off that kind of vibe, you know? Victor Nikiforov, so proper that he owns a fucking robe. Literally nobody owns a robe.”

“Lance McClain owns a robe.”  
“He's a cartoon character, Victor. He doesn't count.”

We fell into another silence, but this time, it wasn't as awkward. It was more comfortable, like the kind of silence you fall into with your best friend. It was filled with the gentle whirring of cars beneath us, and the occasional obnoxious beeping of a car horn.

“I never realised how pretty this city is.” I turned to Yuuri. He stared out at the city, a tranquil, content smile set upon his face, which was faintly illuminated by the dim lights from inside the apartment and the other various lights below and around the city. His doe eyes had a certain sparkle to them, and I don't know what it was – maybe it was tiredness, maybe it was just the fact that he seemed so relaxed, loosely holding a burning cigarette between his slender fingers, seeming so peaceful, maybe it was simply just the fact that he was there _with_ me and we weren't full of seething hatred for each other, or maybe it was all three of those things–, but in that moment, Yuuri Katsuki just seemed more beautiful to me than he ever had. Yes, he was ordinary, and yes, he was plain and basic, but he was also beautiful.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I've just never been somewhere like here, you know? I mean, my apartment's kind of shitty and cheap, and it has the _worst_ view. But yours? It must've cost a fucking _fortune_.”

I waved it off. “My parents had quite a lot of money. Of course, I inherited it all when they died.”

Yuuri looked at me, his eyes full of what I could only recognise as sympathy. I knew the look all too well – from funerals to just regular life, I saw it whenever I spoke to any relatives or friends of my parents since the day they died.

“I'm so sorry, Victor.” Yuuri reached over and gently touched my arm. “I had no idea.”

I never really got it when people apologised for my parents' death happening. It wasn't their fault, so why should they have to say sorry? It kind of just frustrated me, really.

Instead of voicing this to Yuuri, who, by the way, was still looking at me very sympathetically, his hand still resting on my arm, I just said, “It's fine. It happened a long time ago, anyway.”

And the conversation just ended there. He didn't say anything more about it, and neither did I. There was no _need_ to. Yuuri understood that it was a subject I obviously did not want to or feel like talking about and respected that, so said nothing more.

Eventually, we both just got too cold and headed back inside.

If I felt anything back then, on that night, it was purely just confusion.

(And looking back, maybe a little bit of love, too.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this took so long to upload? I couldn't get it right at all and ended up rewriting the entire plan for this chapter, which is why it's a lot shorter than I anticipated and extremely different from the original plan.  
> On another note, thank you so much for all these reads and sticking with this story!!  
> Sidenote, I was not expecting to write a chapter like this until, like, the eighth chapter. Initially, Victor's parents were barely mentioned, and the fact that he was an orphan was literally just for the plans. also, fun fact, Victor wasn't meant to like Yuuri until the sixth chapter ;)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))  
> ;))))))))))))))))))))))

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr  
> my [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/skywa.lker/)


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